Reimagining the Western Front against Eastern Affronts (or what would LeRoi Jones say to Kenneth Goldsmith in the bathroom inside Brown University’s Granoff Center for Creative Arts while I listen...

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In 1954 shortly after being discharged by the Air Force, Mr. LeRoi Jones moved to Greenwich Village working initially in a warehouse for music records. His interest and reverence for jazz began during this period. At the same

time he came into contact with the avant-garde Beat Generation, Black Mountain poets and New York School poets. In 1958 he married Hettie Cohen, with whom he had two daughters, Kellie Jones (b. 1959) and Lisa Jones (b.1961). He

and Hettie founded Totem Press, which published the before-they-were idols Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg.[1} They also jointly founded a quarterly literary magazine Yugen, which ran for eight issues (1958–62).[2]

Mr. Jones before he transitioned to Mr. Baraka worked as editor and critic for the literary and arts journal Kulchur
(1960–65). With Diane di Prima he edited the first twenty-five issues (1961–63) of The Floating Bear.[3} In the

autumn of 1961 he co-founded the New York Poets Theatre with di Prima, choreographers Fred Herko and James Waring, and actor Alan S. Marlowe (read José’s chapter about this rousing period in East Village histories of the avant-

garde). He had an extramarital affair with Diane di Prima for several years; their daughter, Dominique di Prima, was born in June 1962. Important to invoke where Mr. LeRoi Jones who of course after the murder of Malcolm X changed

his name and became known to us as Amiri Baraka, who passed last year at the age of 79.

Western Front, a poem, by Mr. LeRoi Jones was first published in Target Study. It can be found in Black Magic Poetry 1961-1967. .[4}

 

Reimagining the Western Front against Eastern Affronts (or what would LeRoi Jones say to Kenneth Goldsmith in the bathroom inside Brown University’s Granoff Center for Creative Arts while I listen to the new Kendrick Lamar record?)

In the tradition of my previous book
Seven American Deaths and Disasters,
I took a publicly available document
from an American tragedy, witnessed first-hand

(in this case
         by the doctor        
                  performing the autopsy)
                                                      and I simply read it.[5]

My intentions are colors, I’m filled with

color, holler and now every tint you think of lends to mine

Like Seven American Deaths and Disasters,
I did not editorialize…The document I read from is powerful.
My reading of it was powerful.
How could it be otherwise?
Such is my long-standing practice
of conceptual writing: like
Seven American Deaths and Disasters,
the document speaks for itself in ways

that an interpretation cannot. It is a horrific
American document,
but then again
it was a horrific American death
.

my mind is full of color, holler

hard muscle streaks, or soft glow round

I altered the text for poetic effect;
I translated into plain English
many obscure medical terms
that would have stopped the flow of the text;

I narrativized
         in ways that made
                  the text less didactic
                                    and more literary.

hard muscle streaks, or soft glow round

exactness registration. All earth heaven things, hell things,

in colors circulate a wild blood train, turns litmus like a bible coat,

describes music falling flying, my criminal darkness,

I indeed stated at the beginning of my reading
that this was a poem called “The Body of Michael Brown”;
I never stated, “I am going to read the autopsy report of Michael Brown.”
…I always massage dry texts to transform them into literature,

for that is what they are when I read them.

Poems are unmade

 

by fools like Kenneth Goldsmith, who loves himself more than God,

and went to Ferguson only to see his next MOMA commission,

God was walking barefoot in the construction site, 10 families not so

suddenly evicted, blood sickness and hysteria, over bubbles bursting

in mid-air, yet only God touched this poet, the mirror, who has no use

for the word but a ready-made world, But only God who runs the narco-democracy of the universe, and is responsible for relief and rationality. Only Goldsmith, the baldhead faggot, is clearly responsible, not, for definite, no cats we know

 

Maelstrom

Male storms

A male form

Malevolent porn

 

Preparing for this project gave me an enormous gift. I had a dream

with José E. Muñoz. I was the cub he should have murdered.

 

I am the banal observer with little time for reflexivity

except to say that I too at times have a big brown cock.

 

Onto the work of Mr. LeRoi Jones, an I not a Y. The late Amiri Baraka

wonders why we hover over the work of a confused young man

 

Gatsby’s Theory of Aesthetics

1964 – Year of the Buffalo

 

Large and Brown, looming and dreamy

like tobacco smoke. A majestic creature;

 

mistakenly beasty, needs room to move around.

Buffalo soldier; buffalo man. Slaughter our gold,  spiritual conduit

 

What would LeRoi Jones say to Kenneth Goldsmith in the bathroom

inside Brown University’s Granoff Center for Creative Arts?

 

Michael Brown inside Brown University inside Brown imaginaries inside aborted brown commons futurity was a Brown Buffalo taken away from us

 

Were it a scene from The Toilet then we can just turn

to the last page for a cavalier riposte to an expensive provocation.

 

Kenneth Goldsmith, the dandy Darren Wilson.

A young black man's body left out for the his community

to witness and be taunted by the mechanics and machineries of the mundane.

These acts transpire discursively. An autopsy edited makes an imperative

 

narrative; suddenly an experience. The image in your mind

is the vicious language aroused. A remix of a racist document

 

spends the end not on lava hot pavement, his last unresting place but on the young black man’s penis, Goldsmith’s flaccid state is showing.

 

The penis is sentient; it is able to feel, conscious and has intelligence of its own. It is anything but unremarkable; a medical term uncreatively corrupted

 

Interpretation can be supporting a meaning, with one’s own life. I interpret

Kenny G’s exploitative speech act to support a meaning of negligence;

 

A portrait negated through discursive force. Coercive display. The autopsy report is a prolix violence, a living death. This was someone’s son, K.

 

What would LeRoi Jones make of the readymade? Found texts as poetic experiences, immersive discourse, lackluster in its polyrhythmic possibility?  

 

Or are they?

 

Trying to find the ways to free brown and black dick; it’s the remix. Editions that remark on our bodies from the comforts of a toxic armchair privilege.


Question tenure and

all the spoils of institutionality.

Free the dick

from uncreativity.

 

While we’ve become accustomed

to watching endless reruns

 of these tragic spectacles—often

to the point of cliché—

 

once rendered in text,

they become unfamiliar,

and revealing new dimensions

emerge. Impartial reportage

 

is revealed to be laced with subjectivity,

bias, mystery, second-guessing, and, in

many cases, white-knuckled fear. Part

nostalgia, part myth, these words render

 

pivotal moments in American history

through the communal lens of media.

 

Has Kenneth Goldsmith

ever been accustomed to watching

endless reruns of anything when

his dick is free to replicate avant garde cliché.

 

And this week feeling the burn of having defended contemporary art

and conceptual poetry and prying the eyes of the avant garde open to see

and acknowledge not just the contributions but the fact that we make this shit so relevant. We don’t show up for points, we crack the retrograde market-driven values wide open for the PT Barnum bullshit that it is. I smoke a joint and let the burn run down my neck, into shoulder, down spine and into hips.

 

Has Kenneth Goldsmith

ever been accustomed to watching

endless reruns of anything when

his dick is free to replicate avant garde cliché.


This dick ain't free
You lookin' at me

like it ain't a receipt
Like I never made end's meet,

eatin' your leftovers and raw meat [6]

Decolonize or Die, the mongrel coalition speaks [7]

Decolonize or Die

 

This dick ain't free
Livin' in captivity

raised my cap salary
Celery,

 

tellin' me green

is all I need
This dick ain't free,

I mean, baby

 

Decolonize or Die

Decolonize or Die


You really think we could make

a baby named Mercedes
Without a Mercedes Benz and twenty four inch rims
Five percent tint, and air conditioning vents


Decolonize or Die

Decolonize or Die

 

this dick ain't free
I need forty acres and a mule
Not a forty ounce and a pitbull
Bullshit, matador, matador


Had the door knockin',

let 'em in, who's that?
Genital's best friend,

this dick ain't free

Decolonize or Die

Decolonize or Die

 

Pity the fool that made the pretty in you prosper
Titty juice and pussy lips kept me obnoxious
Kept me up watchin' pornos in poverty - apology? No

Watch you politic with people less fortunate, like myself
Every dog has its day, now doggy style shall help

 

Decolonize or Die

Decolonize or Die


This dick ain't free
Matter fact it need interest, matter fact it's nine inches
Matter fact see our friendship based on business
Pension, more pension, you're pinchin', my consensus
Been relentless, fuck forgiveness, fuck your feelings
Fuck your sources, all distortion, if you fuck it's more abortion
More divorce courts and portion

 

Decolonize or Die

Decolonize or Die


My check with less endorsement left me dormant
Dusted, doomed, disgusted, forced with
Fuck you think is in more shit?
Porcelain pipes pressure, bust 'em twice
Choice is devastated, decapitated the horseman
Oh America, you bad bitch, I picked cotton that made you rich


Decolonize or Die

Decolonize or Die

 

Now my dick ain't free

Now my dick ain't free

Now my dick ain't free

Now my dick ain't free

 

 

Works Cited

 

1.     "Imamu Amiri Baraka African American Author". Citrus County, Florida: Black History in America. Retrieved 2014-01-11.

2.     Birmingham, Jed. "Yugen", RealityStudio, April 30, 2006. Accessed January 18, 2010

3.     Baraka, Amiri. Anthology of Modern American Poetry. Ed. Cary Nelson. New York: Oxford UP, 2000. 997. Print.

4.     Jones, LeRoi. Black Magic: Sabotage, Target Study, Black Art; Collected Poetry, 1961-1967. Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Co, 1969.

5.     Goldsmith, Kenneth. “The Body of Michael Brown,” Facebook. Online posting, March 15, 2015. Accessed: March 18, 2015.

6.     Lamar, Kendrick. “For Free? (Interlude)”. To Pimp A Butterfly. Spotify. Accessed March 16, 2015.

7.     The Mongrel Coalition. “The Mongrel Coalition Killed Conceptualism.” Online posting,. http://gringpo.com/. Accessed: March 16, 2015.